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THE WOOER
59

"An' are you reely lost?" says I.
"Yes, sir," says she, an' drops her eye. …
I wait, an' wait for what seems days;
But not another word she says.

I pats my dog, an' lifts my hat;
But she don't seem to notice that.
I looks up trees an' stares at logs.
An' long for twenty hats an' dogs.
"The weather's kept reel good to-day,"
I blurts at last. Says she, "Hurray!"
"Hurray!" she says, an' then, "Encore!"
An' gets me wonderin' what for.

"Is this the right road to 'The Height?'"
I tell her it's the road, all right.
But that the way she's walkin' ain't.
At that she looked like she would faint.
"Then I was lost if I had gone
Along this road an' walked right on—
An unfrequented bush track, too!
How fortunate that I met you!"

"Yes, miss," I says. "Yes—what?" says she.
Says I, "Most fortunate … for me."
I don't know where I found the pluck
To blurt that out an' chance my luck.